


things that linger

by orphan_account



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Fictional Christmas, First Kiss, Happy Ending, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mentions of other characters - Freeform, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:47:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28058676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Dimitri takes Claude on an unforgettable walk through Fhridiad during the mid-winter celebrations, before Claude is set to leave for Almyra.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 10
Kudos: 67





	things that linger

“Claude, for the millionth time, you look _perfectly fine_.”

Lorenz can tell him for another million times, because Claude has yet to be convinced. Maybe it is the mirror in his guest room distorting his face, maybe it is that one strand of hair that insists on leaving the mess he otherwise combed into submission. Either way, he fiddles with the comb some more, ignores the itch of the three woolen layers he’s wearing, twists the hem of the boots yet again.

The last time he was this fussed about his appearance he was four and about to meet a very displeased grandfather. Now, it’s far worse than that, because Dimitri is the very opposite of displeased and probably does not mind waiting another half an hour for Claude to get _more_ ready. Then the problem is not how he looks, but how he feels. Is it too late to simply change his mind?

It turns out it is. He much prefers the idea of vanishing without a trace, but he has made a promise. 

“Maybe I should’ve gone for different colored pants.”

“Claude.”

“Pants are fine? Okay. So it’s the boots, they don’t match color-wise. Can I try on some of yours?”

“If you do not get going now, I will drag you to Dimitri’s carriage personally, and neither of us will find that particularly fun.” Lorenz opens the door with force to make a point, one second away from rolling his eyes away into orbit. “Have a pleasant evening.”

“You too, you too!” Claude gets to wave before the door is shut in his face, and despite all his pouting, he is thankful to have Lorenz at times like these. 

Being thrown out and now moving to meet Dimitri downstairs does not keep him from fiddling with his clothes for a final time. He wants to leave tonight with a pleasant memory for the both of them, something to think of on lonely evenings or when kingly work becomes too much to handle. He has already said all his other goodbyes.

This one might just be the hardest.

All the thick clothing he had to wrap himself in does not save Claude from the cold of Faerghus winter. It is not friendly to even those used to it, and that is something he takes note of when he notices the carriage that will drive them into the heart of the city has a heating system to warm their feet. Claude is thankful for it, and hopes all the walking they will do will help keep some of the warmth in his bones. Dimitri is wearing less layers than he is, though the usual thick cape still adorns his shoulders, and Claude finds himself thinking the space under it must be the warmest place in all of Fhirdiad.

He chases those thoughts away. Dimitri is saying something to him, most likely explaining the historical significance of the mid-winter festival in the kingdom. Claude had read up on the basics out of courtesy before coming because he does like holidays and the intention behind them, even if he is far removed from the beliefs at their core or the meaning of certain traditions. Mid-winter is important, because they commemorate the day Faerghus was proclaimed _holy_ by the church.

Mid-winter is important, because everyone is welcome to Fhirdiad to walk its busy streets and partake in the free-air market. Good children are brought gifts by Saint Cichol, or by well intentioned parents who want to give their children reasons not to misbehave. It is, in summary, a holiday about _family_ , something Dimitri has long lost and Claude always had a complicated relationship with. 

Garreg Mach had taught them both that there are more families than the one you are born in, however. He knows Dimitri feels the same by the way his eyes light up when he talks about his former classmates and the gifts he prepared for them or when he refers to the people of the kingdom as if they were his blood kin and not the people he rules over. Almyra has many festivals to boast of as well — all of Claude’s guest lists have his classmates at the top, first and foremost. 

He is still hesitant to add Dimitri’s name to them.

“Thank you for agreeing to come, Claude.” Dimitri shifts his legs, rests them one on top of the other. He brushed his hair back for the occasion, and it gives Claude some peace to know he was not the only one overthinking this little outing. “I know things have not been simple in the Alliance these past months, but you still took the time to visit.”

Claude smiles. The cushions of the carriage are not the most comfortable things, so he can pretend his stiffness is from them and not the circling thoughts he has been stuck with since early morning. “And say no to a week of vacation? Lorenz would’ve killed me, though he needed one as much as I did. Your invitation came at the right time.” 

“I worried you had forgotten.” Dimitri says. “Or that I had been forceful, when I asked you to consider it during our last meeting.”

“Let’s say you were _assertive_.” The carriage is slowing down, which means they will be stopping soon. Claude takes out the gloves he had stuffed in his pocket so his hands would not sweat to put them back on. “And that’s not a bad thing. It helped me see that the Alliance needed me there for a while longer. And I needed it too.”

It is Dimitri’s turn to smile as he helps Claude out and into the vibrantly colored streets of Fhirdiad, heavy with snow and the voices of people rushing through it like it is the middle of spring, like not even the coldest of days can keep them from being together. 

“Then I will make tonight the best it can be.”

“I know you will,” Claude says, and as with only his most safely kept feelings, he truly means it.

  
  


Claude gets lost the first minute he leaves Dimitri’s side to gawk at decorations strung high from the roofs of homes and walkway trees. They are a stark contrast to the Fhridiad of his memories from his last visit long ago,, when he was there to oversee that a skirmish would go as expected, before he could enjoy this time of peace. _Peace_. The streets are loud, drowning in too much color from garlands and paper cutouts and the white of the snow might blind him in the middle of the night, but there is peace.

There are so many people down the main street that there is barely any space to move, and despite how tall Dimitri is, Claude fails to spot him among the crowd again. It is best to stay in one place and wait, maybe try to decipher who thought green and red were colors that looked decent together — no wonder Lorenz was adamant to stay inside — and ignore that the musicians were playing the same song for the fourth time in a row.

It is an attack to all his senses, and still the excitement that has been bubbling inside his chest refuses to calm down, or it could even be anxiety disguising itself as such. Both. There iso reason for it not to be both. His week of vacation has gone by fast, mostly spent in feasts, horse rides in the forest, or Dimitri’s insistence Claude take whatever books he wants from the royal library despite there being tomes so rare that the other nobles would yell bloody murder at Claude for even touching them. 

Claude sticks his hands in his pockets. He had decided on some books of less historical value; a couple folklore anthologies, some Faerghus knight-tale classics he never had the chance to read, and a more adult romance book just to see Lorenz’s face when he saw Claude waving that thing around. Claude doubts he is going to ever read that one, but the title alone was scandalous enough to help him pull a prank on other guests.

 _I had no idea we owned something like this,_ Dimitri had said when Claude showed him the cover, and he had been more than happy to see it away when Claude revealed his reasons for taking it. They had a good laugh over it. Come to think of it, it is easy to laugh with Dimitri even over topics that would make others question his sense of humor; back at the Academy, before war inevitably pulled them apart with its unforgivable force, they had jokes between them that were theirs and theirs only. 

It is strange to think back to when something as simple as the word ‘worm’ or a shared glance could have them both barely holding back laughter — now there is an unspoken rift between them, and neither of them know what they are supposed to find funny anymore after years of constant fighting and distress, but maybe some of their shared sense of humor has withstood the test of time.

“Claude! There you are!” Dimitri pops out from among the crowd, looking out of breath and with genuine worry in his expression. “I thought you were right behind me, and then suddenly you were gone.”

“Sorry about that.” Claude sticks his tongue out apologetically but is quick to pull it back in. Nope, too cold. “Got distracted, and you walk way too fast.”

“Do I?” Dimitri purses his lips in thought. “Then I need to be more careful not to lose you in the crowd again. Stay here, I will be right back.” 

He presses back through the hordes of people again, but is not gone for long. When he is back, Dimitri waves a fabric that Claude recognizes as one of the ribbons used to wrap gifts up in front of him. Claude would not have thought of that on his own, but he understands and does not hesitate to extend his hand to Dimitri and let him tie the ribbon around his wrist and over the coat. Dimitri is being careful, as always, and Claude cannot help fondly smiling as that eases away some of his nerves. 

“Hold on,” Claude says, “I’ll tie one for you too.” He makes a simple knot that he knows will hold, and both of them tug at the fabric at once to make sure it will not come loose accidentally. It is well secure and not too uncomfortable, and if it bothered him in the slightest Dimitri would have re-done the knot already.

“That should do it.” Dimitri tugs again for good measure. “Can I —” he clears his throat, a new pink in his cheeks that Claude writes off as stemming from the cold “— take your hand? The ribbon is there in case you might get lost again, but it would be rude of me to lead you around by it.”

Claude remembers the first time they held hands. During one of the few tasks they got together, the professor sent them out into town to check for some missing supplies, but neither of them had asked back then. Their fingers bumped into each other as they walked, and Claude had taken his hand without thinking because it was bothering him and he did not want to walk further apart. It had been warm, but neither of them ever talked about it. 

He puts his hand in Dimitri’s, somewhat stiff, and there is still warmth there despite the two layers of gloves between their skin. “After you.” 

When Dimitri shifts his hand so that their fingers are securely laced with one another, Claude lets it happen, walks closer, and once again blames the cold for the red that rises on his own face. 

Claude has lost count of how many stalls they have stopped at. Not that he was counting to begin with, being completely taken by the variety of treats people were trying to get him to buy or ‘magical’ gifts that would make a loved one happy that were shoved his way before he could even have a good look at them. Dimitri insists on buying almost everything that catches Claude’s fancy, which mostly involves food, and he has since become obsessed with figuring out the recipe for whatever _kurtos_ is.

He must be on his fourth one when he smells something else baking, and then he is the one dragging Dimitri from stall to stall. He should buy some souvenirs to bring back to the Alliance for his friends and then to Almyra. To Almyra, where it will be only him for the longest time, as long as it will take to prove himself and settle his personal goals. It could take anywhere from mere weeks to years until he will be able to walk a street like this again with anyone. 

No, not with anyone, with _Dimitri_.

Dimitri is tipping one of the street musician bands and asking them to change the song at long last, just as the last one was starting to get on Claude’s nerves; he fails to understand the obsession with making saint Cichol some attractive, muscular hunk in these songs. Does he need to be one to bring children presents? The people of Faerghus have a very strange definition of family friendly, so he is more than thankful when the new song does not have any words.

It carries the rhythm of a waltz, still heavy in the holiday bells, but it is a song that lulls the other people surrounding them into walking more apart from each other, some couples even shifting their steps into a dance. Claude is not sure if he would call it magical, but there is something special about it, the way these people give in to music so easily, how laughter and teasing words hang in the air.

How, he thinks when Dimitri is back at his side, that it would be nice for them to dance too. He does not bring that up. Instead, Claude exhales the breath he was holding in, the air fogging up with it, and shows Dimitri something he bought. It is a necklace, one that splits in two; half of it the moon, the other half the stars, and it is odd to think the symbols of this festival happen to be so similar to their crests. 

He hands Dimitri the moon half, the one that represents Claude, and his hands linger on top of Dimitri’s after placing it in his palms. “I didn’t think to bring you a mid-winter present until after I got here, so I hope this will do. Something to remember each other by.”

The silence that falls between them as Dimitri inspects the necklace and threads it around his neck is a strange mix of deafening and comforting. If Dimitri did not feel the need to say anything, that must be a good thing, yet Claude lets his mouth run before his mind.

“It’s cheesy, isn’t it? I’ll make up for it next time,” he says, trying his best not to look at Dimitri nor at the moon symbol hanging from the king’s neck because suddenly it feels _too_ intimate. 

“A gift from you is perfect no matter what shape it takes. I will cherish it.” Dimitri has Claude turn around to hang the star piece around Claude’s own neck, and his hands linger heavy on Claude’s shoulders for several seconds, like he is hesitating to take them away. He poses the question on Claude’s mind in his place. “Seeing as everyone else is dancing, would you like to dance, too?”

A simple nod suffices before he is turned around again with the same care Dimitri treats everything. He controls his strength more than he wants others to know, yet Claude always notices in the creases of his forehead, in the small twitches of his fingers, and in the way their hands are in each other. From time to time, Dimitri lifts him off the ground in time with the music like he weighs _nothing_. 

At that exact moment, Claude is convinced he truly is nothing but a feather. The dreaded end of the night is far away, and for now it tastes like sugar, dance, and the light snow that begins to fall over the crowd of people that have forgotten everything but the music that keeps them going. 

When the song ends, Claude has long forgotten about the cold. The thought of getting sick prevents him from shedding his coat, but he can make do without his gloves. He pulls them off under Dimitri’s curious eye and his friend ends up doing the same in an unspoken agreement. The frost of the night accepts it is not welcome between them, between the things they are trying to express without crossing that threshold.

“Where to next?” Claude offers up his hand, lets Dimitri be the one to take it this time. They fit perfectly into each other. 

“I think I saw a stall with ‘dunk the jester’ further down the street. Would you like to play? The big prize is a wyvern plushie.”

“In this cold? Poor jester.” Claude is already dragging them that way. Dimitri had his attention at the words wyvern and plushie in the same sentence. 

“I believe they make it a puppet in winter, but you never know. Swimming naked in almost freezing water is a national sport in Faerghus.”

“Now I _really_ have to see this.” 

  
  


“This way. We will get the best view from here.”

At the farthest edge of the main street, where it begins curving up a hill, Dimitri lifts Claude up to help him climb up to the rooftop of someone’s bakery. He climbs up right after and cleans off a patch of snow so they can sit without it melting underneath them and sliding off. For good measure, Dimitri’s heavy cloak covers that portion of roof so they can sit on something soft together. 

They bought two big cups of hot chocolate with marshmallows on the way, something Claude had to juggle on his way up not to spill a single drop, but it is paying off now. They sit as close together as they can — for warmth, Claude reminds himself to stop his heart from getting its hopes up, but damn him if at times said hopes get the best of him. Their shoulders touch, the ribbons between them, chocolate cups in their hands as they look at the sky.

Fireworks are fairly new in Faerghus and are mostly imported from outside of Fódlan. These ones from Morfis and magic based according to Dimitri. The ones they use in Almyra are far less magical and make noise, but Claude would like to show those one day to Dimitri as well.

He tends to think too far ahead sometimes, but it is nice to let his imagination roam free onto the streets of Almyra. Dimitri is the one who gets lost, Dimitri is the one who looks at everything with his eye filled with wonder like they are young again, like the war did not happen and they are sitting together in the goddess tower away from the ruckus of the celebration and laughing about how silly the idea of destiny is.

When the first firework lights up the sky, Claude wants to believe there is nothing silly about it. He wants to believe that there is a meaning to the two of them, on that roof, so close to each other he can hear Dimitri’s heartbeat and see the shape of the future in the air that forms clouds in front of them as they breathe out. He first gets lost in the colors of the fireworks, and then in their reflection in Dimitri’s eyee.

“Beautiful,” Claude finds himself sighing, as if he has not known Dimitri is beautiful all these years, a gentle revelation that was always there and waiting for him to voice it.

“They are, are they not?” Dimitri says, still fixated on the fireworks. 

The spectacle comes to an end soon, and Claude finally pries his eyes away with only a little shame; the night is coming to an end. Dimitri will soon lead him back to the palace, and the next morning Claude’s feet will carry him back to Derdriu, where a ship for Almyra awaits with his name on it. 

He should say goodbye now, before it gets harder. 

“Claude.” Dimitri has turned around, his gaze intense as it meets Claude’s. “Has this been selfish of me?”

Claude almost chokes on a marshmallow, completely taken aback by the question. “What? Selfish? I don’t see how offering me your home and taking time away from your duties to be my guide for a whole week is selfish. I’ve never been this pampered, Dimitri.”

Dimitri shakes his head. “No, I mean… I know how important your dreams are to you. Yet when we last met at Derdriu and you said you would leave immediately for Almyra, I let my own selfishness get in the way. I wanted to experience something special with you before our lives would put us on different roads again.”

“You asking me to reconsider the day of my departure was helpful, Dimitri. I can be quite impulsive. I thought there was nothing left in Fódlan for me to do, so I was ready to bounce. Turns out I still had quite a lot of loose strings left to look after, and now I can leave with peace of mind, all because someone said I _have_ to see the winter festival.”

“I can only be happy that I helped.” Dimitri looks bashful. “And was the festival worth it?”

“More than I know how to put into words.” 

Their hands touch again, both of them reaching at the same time. Their fingers entwine one by one, slow, careful, but with no more hesitation in such a simple gesture of affection. Claude has come to the conclusion that it was not Dimitri’s cape that made him seem so warm — it is all of him, from head to toe, that thaws away cold both outside and inside. 

There is a shuffle behind them on the ground, followed by laughter. Claude turns his head to see what it is all about and thinks he recognizes Sylvain’s hair vanishing behind a building; the other voice, it might have been Ashe’s, but that is not too important. The tree growing behind the bakery has its branches swaying, bringing to Claude’s attention that a strange plant is hanging from the branches right above them. 

So it was Ashe if neither Dimitri nor him noticed someone right behind them, tampering with the tree. Or maybe Claude was that distracted, to his shame, by the touch of Dimitri’s hand, by the new closeness he has nowhere to run or hide from, terrifying and thrilling all at once. 

And this plant must mean something, because Dimitri looks like he dunked his face in red paint. 

“Mistletoe,” he says, the word sounds like more of a wheeze from embarrassment. 

Mistletoe, as far as Claude knows from books he has read on the subject of Fódlan plants, is poisonous. That is more cause for concern than shame, so there must be something else here that he is missing. “And this means?”

“Tradition says.” He is fidgeting, Dimitri is fidgeting, and now Claude feels restless too. “That two people that find themselves under mistletoe must share a kiss.”

Oh. 

A kiss. A kiss, like what Claude wanted so badly that night in the goddess tower, like what he thought Dimitri would give him when they met at Derdriu and asked him to stay longer, like what he had to have thought of this entire evening judging by the fact he does not even think about how weird it is that kissing can be predetermined by the placement of a poisonous plant.

Kissing sounds like it will be enough to kill him, too, but in the way that Claude needs it to. To kill all these years of wondering, of trying to understand feelings shouting from the depth of his heart. To kill all this uncertainty that has settled because he does not want to take it back to Almyra with him.

“Then…” Claude remembers they are holding hands, and brings Dimitri’s arm around his waist so he can move so close that their personal spaces becomes one. “It is best we do not anger the goddess by breaking this tradition.”

Other than chocolate, Dimitri tastes bittersweet. Claude will ingrain that taste in his mind, so that he will know exactly what to expect next time they meet, the next time Dimitri drags Claude into his lap like they are the only people in the world. Mistletoe be damned, single kiss be damned, they might as well be. 

“Hey Lorenz. I think I’m in love.”

Lorenz lets out a heavy sigh, the smell of his breakfast tea nauseating. They have to leave in an hour, and Claude still has not come down from his high of happiness from the previous night. 

“Took you long enough, Claude. And how is it?”

“You know, nowhere near as scary as I thought it would be.”

The Almyran court likes its gossip as much as all the others. King Khalid quite likes it when his dinner table is lively even with conversations like those. Having nothing more important to say is a good reminder that they are at peace, that there are no other life or death conversation topics hanging in the air. The situation at Fódlan’s throat has gotten much better with Lorenz overseeing their diplomatic talks.

He has not heard much news from Faerghus, other than it having finally recovered from the war and being back on the path of a prospering kingdom. As good as the news is, Dimitri is on Khalid’s mind. A month had turned into a year, and that into three far too quickly. Hard work, however, gave him rewards to reap. He should be able to visit soon.

He is fiddling with the star necklace around his neck when one of his advisors happens to mention in passing that the king of Faerghus is now looking for a spouse, and perhaps Khalid should consider looking for one, too.

“That’s not a bad idea,” he says, a smile as holds the silver star in his hand. “How are we all feeling about a little trip?”

“Three years, Claude —”

“I know.”

They left the banquet a good while ago, but their delegates are too busy drinking and filling up their bellies to miss them. Dimitri is as strong as Claude remembers him, somehow able to carry him up the stairs while suffocating him in kisses at the same time. 

“Three years, and not a _single_ letter.”

“Are you going to scold me all throughout the night?”

“You have come here asking to be my fiancé when we are practically strangers again. I think I have the right.”

Claude shrugs. Yes, Dimitri does, but he is not going to admit that so easily. “We aren’t getting married tomorrow. This engagement would be fantastic for both of our kingdoms.” He opens the door to Dimitri’s bedroom with his foot, something Dimitri rolls his eye at. 

“ _If_ we can still get along, after all this time.”

The moon necklace around Dimitri’s neck falls from under his shirt, and when the two of them finally reach the bed, Claude hooks his fingers in it with the biggest smile he has ever worn, and the next kiss he pulls Dimitri down into carries all the feelings he took with him to Almyra after that festival night, all the feelings he waited so patiently to reveal again.

“You know what, Dimitri? I have no doubts we will.”


End file.
